Should I hide that I seek art
in silence?
Should I deny that I am the last human
crawling on earth?
Are there intruding winter trills?
Should I deny that autumn has already fled
if the blue comes, with breeze and dreams,
if colors appear, still of design?
And here comes God, ready for the Final Judgement,
through gardens of man. whether he shouts,
or barks at the sky,
and denies them to those who will listen to him.
God is silent; he no longer hears bubbles
that burst in the air, sordid air,
that air, so strange, that was never air.
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